


The Eye.

by Fishyz9



Series: Body Parts [1]
Category: Grey's Anatomy, Schmico - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishyz9/pseuds/Fishyz9
Summary: The Eye.A series of missteps and injuries with a patient boyfriend on standby. Levi gets punched.





	The Eye.

I consider, only momentarily, asking one of the girls if I can borrow some of their makeup. I assess the pros and cons of this idea and realise there are no pros. One? We’re all exhausted, frazzled interns and I’m pretty sure they don’t bother with makeup at work. Two, even if they did they’d be too busy laughing to help me. Three, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have my shade.

I examine my war wound in the reflection of the bedpan I swiped, wincing at the slightest touch. Even with the lights out I can see this is going to be swollen and purple by the morning, no mistake. Hell, it’s puffy and bruising now. I look at my phone, at Nico’s response to my text message.

Me: Have a minute?

<3Nico: Maybe in 20?

Me: On call room, third floor

<3 Nico: I’ll be there in 0.5 seconds

Me: Ha. Um… bring an ice pack?

<3 Nico: ?

Me: Third floor, I’m here now.

<3 Nico: Anything else? Suture kit? Tourniquet? Defibrillator?

Me: A hug

<3 Nico: There in a tick

How do I begin to explain this one? I’m already the uncoordinated nerd who’s constantly tripping over thin air and passing out at the slightest glimpse of blood, now this? One could argue that if destroying a wedding cake or nearly puking into a patient wasn’t enough to put this man off, then nothing would. But then this injury is _excessively_ pathetic.

I’ll just leave the light off. Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe I’ll just use my seductive ways to distract – I’m screwed. He’ll see, he’ll laugh and he’ll leave.

“You are a walking disaster, Schmitt.” I mutter to myself.

Just then a stream of light enters the room and I turn to see Nico’s silhouette fill the doorway. He closes it behind him and once again the room is blissfully dark.

“Hey, someone ordered an ice pack?”

“That’d be me.”

I see his hand reach for the light switch. “Please don’t –” I wince again, even that small action hurting as light spills into every corner of the room.

“ _Jeez_ , Levi.” His brow furrows and he strides over to me to gently take my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my head. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

It says a lot that he automatically assumes I ran into a door or something. Understandable, really.

“For once,” I start, watching as he cracks the ice pack and wincing again as he gently presses it to my eye. My hand covers his, holding it there. “For once it wasn’t me.”

His head pulls back a fraction, as if instantly on alert. “What does that mean?”

Lie or tell the truth? Fib, or assured humiliation and possible dumping? “So there were these guys in the trauma room, like…six of them.” Lie it is. “A gang, a _motorcycle_ gang…”

“Levi…”

“They were spoiling for a fight and like the courageous, total stud I am I put myself between them and everyone else…”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Levi…”

“There was a rumble, furniture was moved…”

“I swear to god…”

“And it was just when I had the third guy in a headlock that –”

His hand covers my mouth.  There’s a mixture of concern and amusement in his eyes. “Tell me. What. Happened.”

He lifts his hand and I take a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. “I got punched by… by someone.”

His back instantly straightens. “Someone –?” His voice is suddenly firmer, all business. “Who? I need a name. Is it someone who works here?”

“N-no.”

“So it _was_ a patient?” He presses his lips together in a tight, unhappy line. “I want his name, and then you’re filing a report. Actually screw that, just give me his name and I’ll take it from there.”

“Nico…”

“ _Name_.”

“Henry Thompkins.”

“Ward number?”

“This is stupid; you’re not going down there…”

“Oh I’m not, am I? Someone takes a swing at _my_ boyfriend and you think I’m just going to sit back and do nothing? Ward number, Levi. Now.”

“Fine!” I throw my hands up in the air in defeat. “Paeds. You’ll find Henry Thompkins, my _attacker_ , on the Paeds ward being comforted by his mother.”

“…What?”

“He has a bad case of colic and his mother is a paniker.”

He does that lush thing where he squints slightly, tilting his head ever so. “You…you got punched…”

“By a sobbing two year old. Yes.”

He bites his lip.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t you laugh.”

“How did…how?” He says simply, his jaw clenching in what I can only assume is a mammoth effort to not laugh.

My shoulders slump. “You know what babies are like. Their cute little fists flailing all over the place.” I shrug. “His mother needed a break so I offered to hold him. He had other ideas, clearly…”

“You got punched by a two year old.”

“Yes. Yes I did. I believe this is what they call a ‘new low’.”

“Ok,” he says, unable to hide his amusement. “Bring it in.”

“What?”

His hands pull me close by the waist and he holds me against his solid, warm frame.

“You said to bring a hug.” He murmurs sweetly.

It’s the type of hug where his perfect arms wrap around my middle so I have to tiptoe to hug him back. I rest my cheek against his shoulder. This was worth getting punched by a two year old for.

“Thank you.”

“You were trying to help a mother and comfort a crying child.” His hand runs slowly up and down my side. There’s nothing sexual to it, just comfort.

“Umhm.”

“And you texted me to help with your booboo.”

“We’re doctors, don’t call it a booboo.”

“You called me to help with your contusion.”

“That’s better.”

“Though you got your contusion from a toddler so technically it’s a booboo.”

“Oh my god,” I grin against his shoulder. “Trust you to make me laugh right now.”

He pulls back a fraction and the backs of his fingers brush against my normal-coloured cheek. “You are the epitome of charming, you know that?”

“And you called me your boyfriend, you know that?”

He looks startled for a moment before looking away for a second, and then back. He gives me the smallest of uncertain smiles which, my god, _melts_ me. “Is that…inaccurate?”

“You came to fix my booboo when I asked; you get to call me anything you want.”  I pull him forward by the lapel of his lab coat, kiss him softly. “Just…don’t call me _glasses_.”

 

 

 


End file.
